Timeflix Unveiled
The eyes of everyone at the end-of-century gathering turned toward the cart. In every one of Yoo Jae-won's presentations so far, whatever rested on that cart had been the star of the show. This time was no different. Remington wheeled the cart forward, its contents hidden beneath a polished silver cloche like those used in fine restaurants. When he reached the center of the stage, he gave Jae-won a respectful nod and lifted the cover.
They could have staged a short exchange for dramatic effect, but Remington's stage fright made even that impossible. All eyes locked onto the cart. Yet there was no dramatic reveal—only a faint sense of anticlimax. Resting on the cart was the very remote control Jae-won had been searching for. More precisely, it was the remote for the new-generation set-top box bearing the Nextcomcast logo.
"Found it at last," Jae-won said, picking up the remote with practiced ease. "Many of you will recognize this. Nearly seven million households across North America subscribe to Nextcomcast—now Time Warner Nextcom—cable service. I'm not boasting; I'm simply stating the facts."
Two years earlier the subscriber count had already surpassed five million, and the number continued to climb. In a vast country like the United States, where many urban areas were shadowed by skyscrapers and over-the-air signals were unreliable, cable remained the standard way to watch television. Among those seeking cable service, Nextcomcast enjoyed the highest preference. Its adoption of Korean-style after-sales service and rapid internet-based feedback had earned it the best reputation in the industry. Now, thanks to the merger with Time Warner, integration with Warner Cable was underway—naturally on Nextcomcast's terms, with the Korean system being rolled out across the combined entity. Analog set-top boxes were being replaced by Nextcomcast's digital models. As a result, every Nextcomcast subscriber already owned the exact same remote Jae-won now held.
After a few light remarks, Jae-won settled onto the sofa and pressed the power button. Television and set-top box powered on together, and the Nextcomcast logo appeared on screen.
"Some of you may have complained about this," he continued. "With the old analog boxes, the picture appeared the instant you turned them on. Now there's a short boot-up delay."
That boot time had been the chief complaint when the digital boxes were introduced. A close second was the buffering that occurred when changing channels. Opinions were split on which annoyance was worse.
"In exchange, the picture quality is incomparably cleaner than anything analog could deliver. That is why so many viewers chose Time Warner Nextcom."
Digital retransmission had rendered those drawbacks trivial. Although few productions were yet fully digital, the mastering tapes themselves were pristine. When broadcast over the air, however, noise crept in depending on reception conditions. Nextcomcast delivered a pure digital signal even to isolated homes in rural Kansas, provided a copper cable reached them. The difference was obvious, even on analog CRT televisions.
"The advantages of the digital set-top box do not end there. The marriage of digital technology and the internet holds limitless potential. Today, right here, you are about to witness that potential for the very first time on Earth."
Jae-won, who moments earlier had seemed tense, now commanded the packed main stage with effortless authority. Curiosity among the audience reached fever pitch. He raised the remote once more.
"Even those familiar with this remote must have wondered about one particular button."
He pointed to the ID logo at the very top. It was not merely printed; it was embossed in translucent rubber and actually depressible. Until now, pressing it had done nothing.
"From this moment—August 1, 1998, seven o'clock in the evening—the world changes. To those on Wall Street who claimed the Time Warner–Nextcomcast merger meant nothing, I, Yoo Jae-won, give my answer. Timeflix."
He pressed the ID logo firmly. The ordinary TBS broadcast vanished, replaced by a full-screen ID logo that quickly gave way to the bold Timeflix title. Moments later the main page of the VOD system Jae-won had inspected weeks earlier appeared on the television—and was simultaneously projected onto the enormous screen behind the stage. Because the display was an analog television, resolution was lower than on a computer monitor, so the text and thumbnails were larger.
Timeflix. That was the official name of Time Warner Nextcom's VOD service. The meaning was straightforward: "Time" came first because the service currently drew on Time Warner's vast library, while "flix" evoked motion pictures.
"Movies, dramas, and shows you missed were always difficult to catch up on. You had to hunt through video stores, borrow a friend's recorded tape, or wait for a rerun. Now there is Timeflix."
Jae-won navigated the interface with the remote's numeric keypad, moving the selection cursor with fluid responsiveness—an achievement made possible by the micro-programming he had personally optimized for the set-top box. He knew better than anyone that nothing frustrated users more than pressing a button and receiving no response.
"Hmm, what shall we watch? Ah—today's San Francisco Giants game looks perfect. I've been so busy preparing for this presentation that I still don't know the result."
Negotiations with Major League Baseball had gone smoothly. Time Warner Nextcom already held the largest MLB cable rights package in the industry. The two sides enjoyed a symbiotic relationship, and MLB, not yet fully grasping the implications of VOD, had agreed to both the on-demand service and live internet streaming at a modest fee.
Jae-won selected the sports category and then the Giants. A list of games appeared in reverse chronological order, today's date at the top. He chose the most recent entry, and the afternoon's match began playing in crisp detail.
In truth, Jae-won's favorite team was the Los Angeles Dodgers, not the Giants; the influx of Korean players starting with Park Chan-ho had given him a soft spot for LA. But the Giants and Dodgers were bitter rivals. Choosing the Dodgers in a room full of San Franciscans would have invited boos, even for him. When he pressed play, a loading message flashed, then the game appeared in stunning clarity. A thunderous roar erupted from the convention center, packed with Giants fans.
At that same moment, Gilbert Owen could not tear his eyes from his twenty-one-inch CRT monitor. Even though summer break had begun, the Stanford freshman—now a graduate student—remained in the university lab. He had long since completed his undergraduate degree and was supposed to be studying, yet his real focus was preparing an internet business with the school's support. His professors had already endorsed the business model; the difficulty lay in actually building it. Naturally, Gilbert's greatest aspiration was to become the man now speaking on his screen.
—Hmm, what shall we watch? Ah—today's San Francisco Giants game looks perfect. I've been so busy preparing for this presentation that I still don't know the result.
What Gilbert was watching was the live stream of Jae-won's keynote, broadcast from the Silicon Valley Convention Center via Nextcom's website. The feed was free for anyone, and a lively chat window made the experience even more engaging.
"Whoa!" Gilbert could not suppress his exclamation. The chat exploded, messages scrolling too fast to read. The sheer scale was impressive enough, but the announcement of a full-scale VOD service called Timeflix left him speechless. It was so very like Jae-won. At the same time, Gilbert's desire to finish his own project quickly and work alongside him grew even stronger. Though they were close enough that Jae-won usually replied to ID Talk messages within minutes, seeing him on screen now made his presence feel larger than life.
—Heh, impressive, isn't it? But we're not finished yet. Let me show you something even more remarkable.
The man on the monitor made it clear the surprises were not over.
—I should mention, unfortunately, that this service is currently limited to the San Francisco area. We are moving as fast as we can to expand, so those watching online from other regions need not feel too disappointed.
Whatever grand announcement was coming, Jae-won had chosen to preface it with an apology—an unusual touch.
—Now, let me explain. To all Time Warner Nextcom cable subscribers watching this presentation in San Francisco—
As he spoke, a large numeral "10" appeared on screen.
—I will count down from ten to one. When the countdown ends, you will experience a truly magical service.
"No way," Gilbert breathed. His instincts were sharp; he understood instantly what Jae-won intended. A thrill raced through him.
Jae-won began counting backward.
—Three, two, one. San Francisco residents, press the ID button now and step into the world of Timeflix!
"No way—really?"
Gilbert leapt from his chair and grabbed the remote. The lab had a television connected to a Time Warner Nextcom cable box. He rushed to the set, powered it on, and the moment the picture appeared, he pressed the ID logo with all his strength.
Timeflix!
Against all previous experience, the button that had done nothing for so long now worked. The Timeflix logo filled the CRT screen. What followed was even more astonishing: an introductory animation that had not appeared during Jae-won's demonstration. Images from Time Warner's film, broadcast, and sports libraries cascaded across the screen, forming the word "Timeflix." After ten seconds the familiar VOD interface appeared. Gilbert navigated with the keypad exactly as Jae-won had done and selected a title. A loading message flashed, then the video began.
"Unbelievable."
A new world swallowed Gilbert whole.
Back at the convention center, the audience—now told they could use the service immediately—erupted in stunned excitement.
"The San Francisco pilot will run for one month. If no major issues arise, we will launch Timeflix across North America and eventually the entire world."
Paying no mind to the uproar, Jae-won continued at his usual measured pace. Behind him, a world map appeared on the giant screen, marking planned launch dates and countries. South Korea, naturally, occupied the top line of the overseas rollout schedule.
"That said, while dramas, variety shows, and live sports stream without difficulty, watching movies on a television can feel a little lacking. So we prepared something else."
The surprises kept coming. Remington returned, this time pushing a cart bearing a new product: a twenty-seven-inch FHD LCD monitor.
"The True Cinema Display. I am confident that high-definition displays of this caliber will become the new standard."
It was the finest large-format LCD panel ID Technology's display plant could produce at the highest yield. Jae-won had originally wanted a thirty-inch model, but technical constraints had forced him to settle for twenty-seven. Still, in an era when fourteen- and seventeen-inch screens dominated and twenty-one-inch models were rare, a twenty-seven-inch LCD was nothing short of revolutionary.
Jae-won connected the Cinema Display to an iWorks workstation and accessed the Timeflix website on the computer, streaming a Warner Bros. film. The image quality—far beyond anything a CRT could deliver—drew another wave of applause and cheers.
It had been a resounding success.